Namibia — Extreme Vacation

The many faces of Namibia weaves an equally wonderful tapestry, threaded
by a dozen cultural groups

Namibia,
the land of never-ending color, rock formations and haunting emptiness,
is a vast and barren region in the south-western corner of the African
continent — wedged between Angola to the north, Botswana to the
east, South Africa in the south and the foreboding Atlantic Ocean to
the west. Remarkably, only two-million people call this place home.

The many faces of Namibia weaves an equally wonderful tapestry, threaded
by a dozen cultural groups, including the Wambo, who comprise nearly
half the population; the Herero, historically a nomadic pastoralist
people; and the San bushmen, hunter-gatherers by tradition. There are
also a number of Namibians of European decent, reflecting the land’s
occupation by Germany and South Africa before independence in 1990.

Namibia
contains one of the oldest deserts in the world; the largest canyon,
second only to the Grand Canyon; and is also home to the world’s
highest dunes, towering over their nearest rivals in Arabia.

I started my Namibian experience in the south at the remote and immensely
appealing hamlet of Luderitz, a tiny fishing village forgotten by time.

The barren beauty of the desert landscape offsets the colonial architecture,
revealing its Bavarian history as the first German settlement in South
West Africa, the name Namibia was formerly known by. Luderitz began
life as a trading post, a fishing port and guano-harvesting town. Then
diamonds were discovered in a neighboring town in the early 1900s and
Luderitz enjoyed a sudden surge of prosperity. Now that the diamonds
are gone, Luderitz again finds itself shrouded in solitude between the
encroaching tangerine colored dunes and the inhospitable South Atlantic
Ocean attacking its shores.

My first impression of Luderitz was that of a slightly run-down and
tired old lady. Its character comes from the eclectic selection of colorful
colonial homes, churches and buildings complete with turrets, gables
and bay windows.

Heading a few miles out Luderitz, towards the ghost town of Kolmanskop,
I became mesmerized by the sand blowing over the road. It made for difficult
driving conditions as I could not see where the desert began or the
road ended. Once home to several hundred affluent colonists who lived
in large, stately homes, Kolmanskop is now abandoned. The numerous grand
and elegant dwellings which remain are now eroded by the winds and are
gradually becoming enveloped by the encroaching Namib sands.

Further
south, and some distance inland, lies the spectacular Fish River Canyon.
At its base, the Fish River twists and turns, its clear water tumbling
over rocks. In the early morning you can hear the bark of baboons echo
around the rocks and small buck dart up gullies. Wild life teems in
the area — kudu, leopard and mountain zebra, whose tracks you
may come across, but seldom see, secret themselves away from humans.
From the top of the canyon the view can only be described as breathtaking.
There are no shops or kiosks, only a bench in the shade. You may find
your camera unable to do justice to this natural magnificence.

From
the Fish River I traveled north and found the famed dunes of Sossusvlei,
home to the world’s highest dunes. Viewed from a hot air balloon
at sunrise, I could see why this country was considered a photographer’s
dream as around me, and beyond the horizon rose immense apricot colored
dunes. Below I saw a lone antelope making its way up a dune, when he
reached the summit he tossed his head then stabbed at the sky with gigantic
horns. As I passed overhead, he looked up, snorting defiantly at my
intrusion.

A few hours later I headed north to Namibia’s summer capital,
the old coastal town of Swakopmund — one of the most surreal spots
in the country. Approaching the town at sunrise I witnessed the arrival
of the morning fog, born out of the sea. It washed over the beach then
rolled along the sleepy town’s roads, first obscuring the gutters,
then the sidewalks, finally blurring the buildings themselves. The mist
had a distinctive seagull smell about it and my line of sight was shortened,
which made my heart uneasy when all I could see was the Bavarian spires
and the only sound was the constant boom of the sea. But the fog soon
dissolved before the scorching sun, revealing a town which is an eclectic
mixture of Bohemian and Bavarian architecture and home to an intriguing
mix of artists, hippies, strait-laced descendants of German settlers,
stately Herero women in Victorian dress, and hard bitten miners, game
rangers, safari operators and fishermen. Swakopmund is a little corner
of old Bavaria wedged between a barren wilderness and an inhospitable
coastline.

I
boarded a light aircraft and traveled north of Swakopmund to the golden
dunes of the Skeleton Coast. This rugged coastline is home to an immense
seal colony, flocks of flamingos and skeletal shipwrecks — the
strong currents, treacherous fog and shifting underwater sandbanks marooned
many early explorers. Most of these relics are strewn along the misty,
unending stretch of coast — a gripping sight and spectacular photography.

I
continued on to the secluded Serra Cafema Camp in the extreme north
of Namibia, bordering Angola, were I decided to treat myself to a few
days of luxury. Sipping champagne and languishing in my private pool
I contemplated the sunset, rugged mountains and sand dunes about me
and felt certain this had to rank as one of life’s ultimate indulgences.
Serra Cafema is built on an island of Albida trees and overlooks the
Kunene River — home to Africa’s rarest bird, the Cinderella
Waxbill. This peaceful and spacious rustic camp is one of the most remote
in Southern Africa and has a Himba settlement nearby, allowing interaction
with some of the last nomadic tribes in Africa — an unforgettable
cultural experience.

At breakfast the following morning the camp’s guide, Moses, advised
the small Japanese tourist group and me that we would all be going for
a boat ride down the Kunene to watch crocodiles basking on the river
banks. Knowing the perils which lay ahead I took the sensible precaution
of aestheticizing myself with several glasses of red wine, a suggestion
I shared with my fellow travelers, who were all unusually subdued when
climbing into the boat. I felt certain we were all quietly aware that
this very morning we would all meet our certain deaths. All with the
exception of Moses, who clearly feared nothing. By the time we returned
to camp I was almost calm. The Japanese tourists, now exhilarated, continued
with numerous activities — quad biking on the dunes and a 4x4
safari game drive. I opted for recovering next to the pool.

The following evening I boarded a light aircraft bound for Gobabis,
which is on Namibia’s eastern border with Botswana. The flight
itself was without incident but a perplexing problem arose when the
pilot could not find the runway on which to land. He was convinced someone
had forgotten to switch on the runway lights before going home. After
numerous fly by’s an alarm sounded, soon followed by an audible
“oh-oh”, which was by no means comforting as the alarm indicated
a fuel shortage. A moment later the pilot shrieked and announced that
he had found the runway. He tilted the plane so steeply that I sometimes
still sit upright in bed at 3am thinking about it. I was again comfortably
certainty that I was going to die and then, I saw the runway. The plane
landed hard and felt as if it was broad-siding. For a long and frightening
moment I felt certain the plane would disintegrate, but the pilot held
it together. After a small eternity we came to a stop just outside of
a hanger and that was where I made a silent promise, a promise that
however many years were left to me and wherever my travels took me,
the only way I would ever be killed by a light aircraft is if one fell
on me.

Still
feeling a little weak, I slowly walked towards the chauffeur and vehicle
parked adjacent to the hanger, sent for me by the Harnas Wildlife Sanctuary.
Harnas is the only sanctuary of its kind in Africa and runs a working
guest program, which was especially designed to fulfill most eco-tourists
dreams of working in the wild. Harnas is located on 100 square miles
of land as has been fenced by its international patron, Angelina Jolie.
As a result, Harnas has successfully released many wild animals that
have undergone full rehabilitation. Angelina filmed part of “Beyond
Borders” on Harnas where she met and fell in love with ‘Goeters’,
a domesticated cheetah belonging to the owner, Marlice Van Vuuren: “We
built Angelina a little home on Harnas and hope she’ll visit us
again soon.”

In
the morning a San-bushman guided me to the waterhole where we silently
observed numerous wild animals converge to the waters edge. He told
me of the animals the sanctuary saves, rehabilitates and then releases
back into the wild. We walked past the nursery and I watched in amazement
as one of the working guests bottle fed a frisky lion cub.

My last day in Namibia was spent in its cosmopolitan capital city,
Windhoek. This is a city that has successfully combined innovative modern
constructions with old German colonial architecture. The town centre
is a pedestrianized walkway with shops and market stalls. Several sidewalk
cafés in this area make for great ‘people watching’.
In fact, I found there to be such diversity I could easily have sat
there all day. As capital cities go, this is one of the safest and most
relaxed in Southern Africa and a perfect place to start or finish a
Namibian holiday.

I left Namibia with a little sand in my pocket and full appreciation
of her beauty. There much more to experience and many places to see,
but for this middle-aged traveller, with now somewhat frayed nerves,
I needed to head home — although, this was an extreme vacation
I would definitely repeat.

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